


querencia

by letsbalterdangerously



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hermione Granger, EXTREME Canon Divergence, EXTREME SLOWBURN, Gen, Slytherin Hermione, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsbalterdangerously/pseuds/letsbalterdangerously
Summary: Hermione Granger was going to die. This wasn't a complete one-hundred percent fact, but it was pretty bloody close to it. She was going to die by the hands, or rather the tails of snakes. And it would be that god-forsaken hat's fault.In which Hermione Granger is sorted into Slytherin and I try to write semi-decently.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 28
Kudos: 99





	1. that damn darren tate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However anybody chose to describe her, it was undeniable to all of them, even her beloved parents, Hermione Granger was an oddity. Odd things happened to her.
> 
> And a woman wearing peculiar long robes, and calling her a witch in her own living room certainly fit the bill.
> 
> This had that damn Darren Tate written all over it.

_"To be of good quality, you have to excuse yourself from the presence of shallow and callow minded individuals,"_

If you asked the people who knew Hermione Jean Granger for their opinion on her, you would receive a variety of responses, both positive and negative, depending on the party(ies) involved.

Her parents thought that she was extraordinary (to be fair, most parents thought this of their children, so it was hardly an enlightening view on the girl's character).

Her teachers would grudgingly admit that Hermione was incredibly intelligent. Hermione had a little habit of getting into debates with her teachers, with the former winning more often than not. She couldn't blame them for their chilly attitudes though: she supposed it must have been hard to teach a child that could be a lot smarter than you. Hermione could readily admit her level of intelligence. She had a slightly higher than average IQ and an unusually good memory, meaning she customarily expected to be smartest one in the room. Or at least, the most eager to learn. She would settle for that as well.

Hermione's ballet teacher was an uptight French woman that was way past her prime (solely judged by the deep wrinkles that even the hardiest of concealers couldn't cover). She called Hermione _une petite fée_ because she swore that when the little girl leapt, she seemed to impossibly stay in the air for a split second longer than possible.

The young librarian of the local library of which Hermione was a frequent visitor would call her an avid reader who had the potential to do great things when she was older. The librarian, a young man with an awful limp moustache, was in awe of the little girl who read the works of Jane Austen and famous biographies by the time she reached Year 5. He often chuckled when he thought of her eagerness to learn compared to his own.

Her classmates would describe her as an ugly, pesky, know-it-all who needed to keep her trap shut. As suggested by that pleasant nickname, her classmates weren't particularly fond of her. Hermione liked to think that being deemed a social pariah of her primary school was because of her intelligence being intimidating. It was certainly better than being ignored because she was a dreary bore.

Not having any friends wasn't for lack of trying, on Hermione's part at least. She had tried to befriend popular girl Aisha Omar frequently throughout her time in primary school; Aisha was the leader of the girl gang and being liked by her was practically a free pass through school. She was beautiful and confident; everything Hermione desperately desired to be.

Hermione had downloaded a bunch of cheesy, overrated movies that seemed to be in fashion from a slightly shady website and bought a neon pink magazine from a corner shop, hoping to be able to relate to the girls a little more. Hermione wanted to impress the girls with or at least show she was worth a minute of their time. However, when the apprehensive girl went up to them, instead of being relaxed (and instead like an anti-social hermit) she succeeded in making a fool of herself: Hermione's palms had started to sweat and Hermione stuttered a few incomprehensible and utterly irrelevant facts.

Aisha had rolled her eyes and ignored her.

She burst into tears as soon as she got home.

There was also the matter of exploding windows and lightbulbs. Sometimes the boys, (particularly that damn Darren Tate) would pick on her in class, imitating her as she answered questions. She remembered a particularly embarrassing incident when she had gotten a tad too enthusiastic and talked for at least a minute straight. When she had Hermione finally caught her breath, the whole class started laughing, and even the teacher couldn't resist a few chuckles.

Hermione's cheeks had burned in embarrassment as she slumped down sullenly. Tears prickled her eyelids, and she clenched her fists, forcing herself to remain composed.

Crying was as good as admitting defeat after all.

Hermione was so angry at all of them. Especially that damn Darren Tate who was still jumping up and down, imitating Hermione. She had stopped trembling and could only feel fury. _How dare they._

She didn't remember it happening. The window reacted as if there was a force that was pushing down on it and it exploded into tiny pieces, sprinkling all over the room. Everybody seemed to automatically shuffle back in order to get away form the shower of glass. Inexplicably, the shower of glass seems directed towards Darren and several pieces of glass managed to hit him. Darren immediately cried out as the glass cut his bony cheek. The class was stunned into silence at the sight of the gaunt boy cowering and Hermione standing in the middle of the glass, looking as astonished as they all felt.

Another time, Becky Williams had tried to blame her for spilling the PVA glue all over the desk. Of course, gullible Mrs Michaels had believed doe-eyed Becky who had big blue eyes and dimples and a wicked smile instead of the brash, frizzy-haired girl who was nowhere near the glue pot at the time. The next thing either of them felt was the lovely sensation of having sticky glue in their hair. Hermione had no idea how it happened but the look on their faces was absolutely comical, their eyes had both widened up and Becky actually started crying!

_(Becky had it out for her for the rest of the year. Funnily enough, none of the paper balls she tried to throw at her came anywhere near the girl. Her aim must have been horrible for it to have it her crush, Ben Odjewa, instead.)_

However anybody chose to describe her, it was undeniable to all of them, even her beloved parents, Hermione Granger was an oddity. Odd things happened to her.

And a woman wearing peculiar long robes, and calling her a witch in her own living room certainly fit the bill.

This had that damn Darren Tate written all over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Just a little introduction to our resident badass, Hermione Granger. 
> 
> Other chapters will be longer though (fingers crossed)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr  
> neitheraborrowernoralenderbe


	2. is it so hard to ask for some creativity?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione picked it up and opened it up, gazing at the paper, which was more like parchment really, with that odd yellow colour. She had gotten it a week ago, and convinced herself it was a cruel prank from Darren Tate or Becky Williams. 
> 
> Perhaps it was intended as a sort of keepsake, so that she may always remember their shouts of 'freak, freak!' with fondness. 
> 
> (How they got an owl to deliver it, she wasn't quite sure).

_' Those who cry 'lies!'_

_in a disbelieving manner,_

_are often those who desperately desire_

_to be in a reality so brilliant and glorious_

_that it looks impossible simply written down,''_

_(Earlier that day)_

Hermione's eyes fluttered as she woke up, wincing when she looked directly at a ray of sunlight that reached in through the open window behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the surroundings and Hermione leant on her elbows, wrinkling her nose while she swept her hair, which had escaped her loose braid and stuck to the sweat on her forehead unattractively, to the side.

The girl stretched out her limbs slowly, groaning slightly. She frowned slightly and looked behind at the chirping birds. They were an unflattering brown and looked out of place compared to the picturesque blue sky and fluffy clouds in which they stood. The birds perched on the shaky branches of a skinny and frail tree.

If looks could kill those birds would have dropped dead. Alas, Hermione's eyes were not particularly enigmatic and did not possess the power of murder. Hermione made an almost guttural sound from the back of her throat in annoyance. Hermione was most definitely not a morning person, and the ceaseless shrill tweets that accompanied them were partly the cause. It was late nights and late mornings for her, thank you very much!

She laid in her bed for another minute, basking in the blissful sunlight. It was mornings like this that made waking up worth it. Hermione was three weeks into her summer holiday, and she didn't even have to worry about returning to that dreaded school ever again. She was going to attend a prestigious grammar school, and Hermione's talents would finally be recognised; Hermione wouldn't be made fun of for knowing multiple languages and liking Greek mythology. Hermione would be adored and celebrated, and Aisha Omar wouldn't be able to hold a candle against her.

Sighing happily at the thought, Hermione leant on her elbows as she waited for that fuzzy feeling in her head to subside. Hermione's bed was a mess, bedsheets and duvet cover all tangled together in a big heap at the end of her bed. 

As her vision cleared, she saw the familiar sight of her room, her haven during those awful times at school. The walls had large sheets of paper with snippets of poetry or quotes that Hermione had felt particularly drawn to written on it. The pieces of paper varied in size, and covered the walls completely, only leaving a few strips of the walls bare. There was a large poster depicting the positions in ballet.

Hermione crawled to the end of her bed, and rustle through the pastel green duvet in search for the book she had stayed up late reading. 'Ah,' Hermione whispered in triumph as she clutched an old copy of 'Wuthering Heights'. 

With shaky legs, she stumbled to her desk; a plain white desk that had random doodles in blue biro covering the majority of the surface. By the edge of the table, there was a heap of books, stacked very unevenly, giving the impression that they might topple at any moment. The outer corners of the books' covers were wrinkled; they were favourites of Hermione and frequently read.

She placed 'Wuthering Heights' on the top of the pile of books (her dad had taken to calling it the Leaning Tower of Pisa), and after a moment of hesitation opened the desk dr. On top of her revision books and flashcards, there was an envelope. On the back, it addressed:

_Miss H.J. Granger_

_The Bedroom with Serene Periwinkle Walls_

_18 Thurlow Road_

_Hampstead_

Hermione picked it up and opened it up, gazing at the paper, which was more like parchment really, with that odd yellow colour. She had gotten it a week ago, and convinced herself it was a cruel prank from Darren Tate or Becky Williams. 

Perhaps it was intended as a sort of keepsake, so that she may always remember their shouts of 'freak, freak!' with fondness. 

(How they got an owl to deliver it, she wasn't quite sure).

What better way could they degrade her than by sending her a letter describing a boarding school in Scotland that supposedly took _witches_ and _wizards._

_'A place where special people like yourself attend, in the hopes that your unique talents will flourish.'_

Ha.

It was so obviously a prank, a poor one at that, meant to spite her and rustle her. 

She, a witch!

The very idea was preposterous. 

____________________

_Hermione was under her duvet covers, forming a small cave-like structure, as she read a particularly lengthy novel, solely using the limited light of a cheap, flashy orange, pocket-sized torch._

_Hermione was fighting the urge to go to sleep and forced her heavy eyelids to remain open. Her parents had long gone to bed, and she was particularly careful when turning the page lest it makes a loud rustling sound._

_Her mum was an incredibly light sleeper after all._

_"THUMP_

_THUMP,_

_THUMP."_

_The sudden thumping sounds made her pause shell-shocked. It certainly wasn't her parents; the door to their bedroom remained firmly closed._

_"THUMP_

_THUMP,_

_THUMP,"_

_There was only one place the sound could have come from. Her bedroom was directly in front of a large window, and it was the only logical explanation to where the sounds had come from it._

_For a split-second, Hermione felt like a little girl again, worried about looking the other way, in fear that she would find a monster._

_She had long outgrown that habit. After all, she had found that the worst monsters tended to be the ones disguised right in front of you._

_Cautiously, Hermione turned around and clasped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were comically wide, and the hand on her mouth seemed to be the only thing that kept her from shrieking._

_For behind the closed window was a massive majestic owl. It wasn't a normal barn (which would have been uncommon by itself) but rather a snow owl with white feathers that looked suspiciously smooth to the touch. There was a multitude of small black splodges on the feathers. It had an orange beak that appeared to be clutching a flat object._

_What was the most peculiar about the owl, were its eyes: They seemed to be trying to communicate with her._

_"THUMP_

_THUMP,_

_THUMP."_

_If she didn't know better, Hermione would say that the bird looked at her with something kin to annoyance. The bird seemed to glance down at the latch of the window as if daring her to let him in._

_Contemplating the pros and cons, Hermione decided to take a leap of faith and opened the window slowly._

_As soon as there was enough space for it to do so, the owl rushed in and circled her room. Its wings were elegant, and it was one of the most magnificent sights Hermione had ever seen._

_Hermione looked up at it, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, stunned. The owl finally landed on her bed and dropped the object in his beak (she could see now that it was some sort of paper) and flew right back out of the window._

_Hermione crawled up to the window and peered out of it, hoping to find a glimpse of the beautiful creature. Strangely enough, she couldn't spot anything._

_She turned back to the paper delivered and frowned slightly when she saw the address. 'Serene Periwinkle Walls' definitely sounded like something Becky Williams would say._

_Carefully, she tore open the envelope and her mouth dropped as she read the first few sentences._

**_Dear Hermione Granger,_ **

**_We are delighted to offer you a place at 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'. As custom for all muggle-borns, you will be receiving a visit from a teacher with more details within the next following week of opening this letter. In short, it is a place where special people like yourself attend, in the hopes that your unique talents will flourish._ **

**_(Please note, if destroyed, there is a chance a swarm of them may appear the next following day.)_ **

**_The following equipment is mandatory for all first-years..._ **

**______________________ **

She sighed. It was sad that even though they were supposed to start this new phase of her life, people could still be so unfailingly childish. 

Honestly, though, a school for witches and wizards? Was that the best they could come up with? Hermione had expected more from Darren Tate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, no introductions to actual relevant characters- I'm sorry.
> 
> Good news though, next chapter we'll be getting introductions to the parents and, oh yes!
> 
> A surprise visitor!
> 
> Ya know the drill, kudos and comments.
> 
> Also, any particular habits you'd like our little witch to have?


	3. a speechless logophile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's brows furrowed confusedly. 'What are you talking about? I'm already going to Twissen Grammar, we've got the uniform and everything.'
> 
> Hermione's mum handed her a plate, which had a pile of (slightly burnt) bacon. 'You can eat this in the living room, dear. Her name is Professor McGonagall and she's the Deputy Head of a boarding school in Scotland.'
> 
> 'Boarding school, Scotland, mum, what-'
> 
> Mr Granger brushed a hand through his already mussed, frizzy hair, and huffed heavily, 'Please, just hear her out.'

_'I would burn my body,_

_and gleefully watch the roaring flames lick me,_

_if it meant I could only feel,_

_a singular, individual thing,_

_in place of this hurricane of emotions that devours me,'_

18 Thurlow Road was a five-bedroom, two-bathroom home. The outside walls were a comforting maroon, and two cars where parked in its driveway. There were a few potted plants near the door.

This home had three residents, Mr Granger, Mrs Granger-Thompson and Hermione Granger.

Mr and Mrs Granger were a recently-married couple and were very proud of their new home. They had only moved in a couple of weeks ago, but had already managed to fill their home with paintings and other odd sort of knick-knacks from their travels to Asia and Europe.

_(Mr Granger was still trying to convince Mrs Granger to convert one of the spare rooms into a library- "you don't need a whole room David, darling!")_

Mr and Mrs Granger had met in Dubai, fresh out of dentistry school, new to work, living on their own and the language. They bonded over literature and linguistics alike.

7 years later, they arrived back in London. David Granger with an engagement ring in his pocket, Helen Thomas _(who after much convincing agreed to hyphenate her name to include Granger, "-because I've gotten this far as a Thompson, and I've think I've done pretty well so_ _far-")_ had a baby, unknown to even her, hiding in her stomach.

They were both fluent in Arabic, and vowed to raise their daughter the same.

David Granger was a rather lanky man, with frizzy brown hair that had to constantly be kept short or it would go out-of-control. David Granger had a terrible habit of mussing it when he was stressed. He had white skin that was covered completely in brown little freckles and had a few, faint acne scars on his forehead, of which he was terribly self-conscience. He despised the look of facial hair and adamantly, never grew it.

David Granger was an avid lover of philosophy and Greek Mythology, and chose Hermione's name. " _-it's the perfect name, my beautiful Helen of Troy-,'"_

David Granger was a firm believer in _'-talking less and_ _speaking more-'._ He was very perceptive (which was useful for getting into other people's businesses) _"-darling, you are so nosy, don't give me that look, you are-"_ and intended to teach his daughter how to identify people's emotions in their body language. 

_(it was good for bargaining after all!)_

Helen Granger-Thompson wore oversized hoodies and often organised peaceful protests. She was always going on a march for something or the other, whether it be fighting homophobia, racism or sexism " _\- because gosh somebody's got to do it-!"_

She had brown skin, and soft brown curls. Helen Granger wasn't a huge fan of her teeth, which was slightly ironic, because the two front teeth were slightly large, and the targets of mean bullies when she was younger.

She was a no-nonsense woman, and had no time for people who were unprofessional and hysterical. She was extremely resourceful and could make the best of anything, even though she could be little petty. Helen Granger Thompson absolutely loved trivia and linguistics, and it was a trait she was very glad had passed down to her daughter.

And although Mr and Mrs Granger loved their 8-year-old daughter, they knew that she was also a little strange.

Or, perhaps it was strange things that had happened to her. 3 years ago, during a visit to her paternal grandparents in Wiltshire, they had all gone on a walk. Hermione had insisted that she could see a large castle and a boy with shining silver hair running in a large hedge maze, that had a dragon in it! " _-look it's other there, I promise it's real-!'"_ She had then waved to this non-existent boy, before pouting. When asked what was wrong, she replied, " _His dad told him to get away from the muddy filth, but the gardens didn't have any mud, mummy and I had a shower yesterday-"_

A couple of months ago, a couple of cruel girls who were jealous of Hermione getting the lead in a ballet recital, took a pair of scissors to her costume and annihilated it. Mr and Mrs Granger were rightfully livid and Hermione cried herself hoarse the whole night. When they woke up, it was repaired, and showed no trace of ever having a measly wrinkle.

Perhaps, most notable was the incident when Hermione was 4-years-old, and they had gone for a family trip to London's Zoo. Mr and Mrs Granger were purchasing some crisps and sandwiches and when they looked back at her, they found her giggling and hissing oddly at a snake that was tangled in her birds nest- sorry, her hair.

Mrs Granger had almost had a stroke from the sight alone, never mind Hermione's refusal to leave it." _-but daddy, w'w'we're best friends, he's told me all about Peru-"_

They never went to a zoo again, not even letting her go to field trips with her school.

Mr and Mrs Granger were of extremely proud of their little girl. At 8-years she knew French and Arabic, and was learning Spanish. She frequently quoted significant figures or famous authors and was unrivalled for the top of the class.

But even they could not deny all of the peculiar happenings.

____________________

Hermione exited their mini-home library, where she had just chosen three new books to re-read, and trudged downstairs gripping, the wall as support as she clumsily marched down. When she reached the hallway, she slid her mismatched sock-clad feet down the wooden floor. She frowned slightly at the closed living room door. Usually, her dad liked to read a book, whilst listening to her mum's commentary about whatever was on the news that day.

She stopped in the middle of the hallway. Coming from the kitchen, there was the easily recognisable scent of bacon?

_Bad sign._

Her parents both hated bacon, and only made it on Hermione's birthday, or when they had bad news. Hermione went up to the kitchen door apprehensively, which was closed apart from a small crack.

Her dad never closed the door when he was cooking. He liked having the smell of food fill the whole house.

She leant sideways against the hallway and peered into the kitchen sneakily. Her mum was sitting on the breakfast bar with her hand over her face and her dad was hunched over her, talking in fast, slightly fearful whispers. They were talking in Arabic.

_Another bad sign._

They only did that when they had a visitor they wanted to avoid. 

She couldn't hear the entirety of their hushed conversation but managed to make out a few words:

_"Explain so much,' murmured her mum tiredly_

_"- it has to be a prank, Helen-"_

_"-teacups into fucking mice David!" Her mum had risen and slightly shrieked the last sentence._

If Hermione had any remaining doubts about whether there was a problem, they were gone now. Her mum never used profanity. She believed it was an attempt that desperate people made when faced with no other choice, and completely undiplomatic. Hermione completely agreed.

Hermione decided to make her presence known. If it was severe enough to warrant profanity, it must be bad.

Better to rip the bandaid off as soon as possible. Even if the gruesome, critical wound, with an overflow of pulpy pus, laid underneath.

'Hey, mum.' Hermione walked in, feigning ignorance to the unnerving tension between her parents. They both stood up abruptly, her mum almost tripping in her haste to right herself and look (somewhat) ordinary. It did not work.

Hermione examined them for a minute. Her mum was wearing a large fuzzy jumper and her dad was donned in sweatpants. Her mum's long silky hair (which she had sadly not inherited) was in a scruffy ponytail, and strands were poking out wildly. The atmosphere between them wasn't just tense. Her mum looked slightly feverish and had blazing red cheeks, whilst her dad looked extremely worked up. They were looking at her slightly numinously like they were in dubious awe of her, but nervous as well. She didn't like it.

It wasn't just the odd way that they were like looking at her (like she was some kind of zoo animal) but the volatile environment between them. Hermione had never seen her parents fight. Sure, they squabbled playfully but never before had she seen them so roused with one another.

The two were her perfect idea of a romantic relationship. They were so loving and attentive to one another. They were the parents who never, ever made her feel lonely and always asked for her opinion, from everything to towel colours, to her political views. And that's why it was so overwhelming to see them acting so tempestuous to one another.

"He-hey, darling." replied her dad, shakily. He had a tentative smile on his face and was still looking at her with opia, _the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable._

She had learnt what that word meant from him.

Her mum stiffened slightly and rushed over to her as if, breaking from her trance. She rubbed her hands over Hermione's shoulders.

_(was it an attempt to soothe her daughter or herself?)_

"Darling, we have an unexpected visitor. A professor," began Mrs Granger, in a high-pitched tone.

Mr Granger continued, shaking himself, and speaking slightly firmer than before. "She's here about you. She has a place in her prestigious and - uh, her unique school for you."

Hermione's brows furrowed confusedly. "What are you talking about. I'm already going to Twissen Grammar, we've got the uniform and everything."

Hermione's mum handed her a plate, which had a pile of (slightly burnt) bacon. "You can eat this in the living room, dear. Her name is Professor McGonagall and she's the Deputy Head of a boarding school in Scotland."

"Boarding school, Scotland, mum, what-"

Mr Granger brushed a hand through his already mussed, frizzy hair, and huffed heavily. "Please, just hear her out."

___________________

Hermione did exactly that. She went into the living room - not before taking a minute to brush her teeth and tame her hair, of course. She would have changed her clothes if her mum hadn't grabbed her in an anxious fit. The action made her wonder, what type of person was seated in the living room, that made normally courteous parents want to get rid of so soon?

Hermione complied. She sat down dutifully, with a plate of bacon clutched in her hands tightly. She sat opposite a stern looking-wrinkled woman who was clad in the most bizarre get-up Hermione had ever seen.

This, Professor McGonagall, had a ruby velvet cloak on and a large pointy hat- seriously what was wrong with her? She had round spectacles on the tip of her nose and her grey hair was pulled back in a rather-painful looking bun. She looked like a woman who wouldn't tolerate any nonsense. Professor McGonagall also looked like she belonged in a madhouse.

_Was that something wriggling in her pockets?_

As soon as Hermione sat down, Professor McGonagall gave her a terse nod. 'Now, I'm sure your parents have told you, that you are a witch, and that you have been offered a place at Hogwarts of which I teach-

Professor McGonagall words fell on deaf ears. Hermione had paled considerably and her hands shook. Several rashers of bacon were in danger of falling on the floor. She looked at her parents with widened eyes. She felt this urge to start laughing gleefully.

_There was no way._

_No way._

_It was just a prank._

_Probably orchestrated by Darren Tate._

_Aisha Omar was wrong; she was not a freak._

_Right?_

Hermione didn't comprehend anything that Professor McGonagall was saying. She didn't couldn't hear anything, her vision was blurry, and what was that banging sound? It was if her brain had short-circuited and the only thing she could think of was FREAK, FREAK, FREAK.

"and of course, you would have received a letter with all the necessary items you'd need to get- are you alright?"

The adults looked worryingly at the girl. Hermione's face had turned an odd red colour, and the plate had fallen out of her hands and was turned upside down. Several rashers had slid underneath the couch.

Hermione had a rather extensive vocabulary. She was a logophile you see, which was a lover of words. Hermione knew the exact word to describe her reaction to such an atrocious accusation: it was alexithymia, _the difficulty in experiencing, expressing, and describing emotional responses._

Yet the only thing that she said was, "I fucking knew Darren Tate was more creative than that," in a weak and feeble voice.

_First thing she said as a witch, was that._

_Darren Tate still continued to plague her._

_Bloody menace._

Wasn't this such an interesting quagmire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone and edit quite a lot of this chapter. Like I literally woke up at 4 in the morning and felt extremely annoyed with this and like I went back changed a to of it. ;)
> 
> Also Is that dialogue? what-really!  
> I know it's not a lot of speaking tho (don't kill me, its a work in progress)
> 
> Next chapter: Diagon Alley! 
> 
> (no excuse for me not having dialogue in the next one)
> 
> Also please, please, please don't be a silent reader. Comment! It'll only take a minute (unless you want to do one of those big analysations -if so go ahead.)
> 
> You can even write criticism (constructive of course) and your views and hopes on what to happen.


	4. what if i don't want to be a phenomenon?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Granger shook his hand and smiled hesitantly. 'Yes, we are. I was told that you could help us get to-" he paused, unsure.
> 
> "Diagon Alley? Well of course, just follow me over here." Tom walked out of the bar and looked back at the family. He winked at Hermione. "And you must be the Muggle-born. Ah, what an experience this must be,"
> 
> Hermione chuckled. "It certainly is, sir," thinking about how surreal everything seemed. 
> 
> Tom had led them to a small courtyard, that only had a couple of dustbins, and dear god, was that vomit at the side? Hermione shuddered and looked up at the barman "Now lookie here dearie, you'll certainly won't wanna miss this. Good day to you all," 
> 
> Tom pressed his wand on a brick, which then wriggled! Inexplicably, the wall seemed to divide in the middle, and Hermione and her parents stepped absentmindedly through the entrance. Hermione looked back at Tom, to see that the archway had closed.

_'My heart is beating in anticipation,_

_of this, solely of this!_

_I sing, I cry,_

_for I have finally arrived.'_

Hermione was sandwiched between two men on the tube, who were the perfect dictionary definition of the word manspreading. It was so bad, that Hermione clutched her knees to her chest. On a normal day, she would've been in a sour mood.

But today was not a normal day. Nothing could dispirit Hermione: she was in a joyous, euphoric mood and her thoughts baltered wildly with the ever-increasing possibilities of what was to come. For Hermione Granger was going to Diagon Alley. She was going to see people like her, witches and wizards like her! She was going to somewhere where people wouldn't look at her oddly, and 'oh!' the very thought made her giddy.

This was the start of everything.

_______________ 

_"Darren Tate, what's he got to do with anything," asked Mr Granger, his guilty face darkening as he recalled the many times Hermione had come home sobbing because of him._

_"No-nothing dad, it doesn't matter," Hermione tried to clutch onto the remaining dignity she had left and immediately attempted to show some sort of control on this flabbergasting situation. She crossed her legs and stared dead into Professor McGonagall's eyes- both which were actions that were supposed to show control- according to her dad at least._

_Speaking of, Mr Granger was standing near the doorway with Mrs Granger, who were both observing the two rather worriedly. A pang of anxiety struck through her; her parents weren't afraid of her, were they? 'That's ridiculous,' she thought and shook the idea from her mind. Still unfailingly staring Professor McGonagall softly, she asked, "What's your proof?"_

_"Have you ever had unexplainable, odd things happen to you? Things, that your laws of science can't possibly explain?"_

_Hermione remained silent. "It was magic. Accidental magic that awoke when you felt particularly intense emotions- especially when you feel some sort of danger," It made sense. It was laughable really, all these years that she spent desperately trying to convince herself that her ballet teacher was plain bonkers, or that Aisha Omar must be having a bad hair day when it puffed up the second she made fun of Hermione. It was magic._

_And it was liberating._

_She proceeded to ask Professor McGonagall every question possible._

______________

Hermione held her parent's hands tightly as they walked to this pub, the 'Leaky Cauldron' which served as a portal to Diagon Alley. Since her parents were Muggles, 'non-magical' people, they wouldn't be able to see the bar, so Hermione was on a stern lookout. But Hermione didn't see anything remotely magical. At all. She saw hamburger bars and Nandos, and cinemas and Muggles, but nobody who wore clothing similar to Professor McGonagall. For a moment, her thoughts began to spiral downwards, when she briefly began to contemplate if Professor McGonagall had been a sort of paid comedic act.

Hermione was so immersed in the possibilities that she really stopped looking at the streets properly at all, and would have completely missed the Leaky Cauldron if not for a sudden warm, tingly feeling that spread throughout her body. ' _Magic,'_ she smiled. She stopped abruptly and looked sideways. Mr and Mrs Granger were looking in that direction eagerly.

"Darling, it's just two shops," muttered Mr Granger baffled.

Mrs Granger rolled her eyes amusedly, "Remember, McGonagall told us that we Muggles couldn't see it," she said good-naturedly but looking slightly crestfallen as well. Hermione was disappointed as well, but for other reasons. It was a dingy, dirty-looking place, and looked completely unremarkable and unmagical.

Hermione paused for a second and looked at the passersby, knowing full well it would not do to make split-second judgements. The way that people's eyes seemed to almost slide over it was most peculiar. More importantly, it was confirmation. She took a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders and took her hands out her parents. She wasn't a baby, after all.

Hermione pulled open the door.

_______________

" _Remember to keep an eye out for the Leaky Cauldron. Your parents won't be able to see it, it's enchanted, you see because they're Muggles." declared Professor McGonagall sternly, looking slightly distrustingly at Hermione. “It's incredibly important that you pay attention, it's a grubby place, that you could easily miss,”_

_Mrs Granger frowned and took a slightly guarded stance, "Sorry, Muggles? What does that mean?" she asked with her arms crossed defensively._

_"It's the Wizarding term for those who don't have magic," replied Professor McGonagall, slightly rushedly. She continued, "Once you enter the Leaky Cauldron, you'll be greeted by a man called Tom. He'll open up the pathway to Diagon Alley for you,"_

______________

The bar was gloomy and wretched. Yet, there seemed to be many people, who were all dressed in an odd combination of Wizarding and Muggle clothing. There were a few old ladies in the corner and an old, wrinkly barman who was serving a drink to an abnormally large-looking man who had a very shaggy, beard and looked slightly ill. Hermione walked up to the barman, fully prepared to introduce herself, but Mr Granger placed a precautionary hand on her shoulder. This was an odd world, after all, one none of the family had experienced first-hand. Mr Granger walked up to the barman, who looked up from his conversation and offered his hand.

"Hullo! Muggles are you? I'm Tom, the barman." Tom had a friendly-looking face and a big toothy smile.

Mr Granger shook his hand and smiled hesitantly. 'Yes, we are. I was told that you could help us get to-" he paused, unsure.

"Diagon Alley? Well of course, just follow me over here." Tom walked out of the bar and looked back at the family. He winked at Hermione. "And you must be the Muggle-born. Ah, what an experience this must be,"

Hermione chuckled. "It certainly is, sir," thinking about how surreal everything seemed. 

Tom had led them to a small courtyard, that only had a couple of dustbins, and _dear god, was that vomit at the side_? Hermione shuddered and looked up at the barman "Now lookie here dearie, you'll certainly won't wanna miss this. Good day to you all,"

Tom pressed his wand onto a brick, which then wriggled! Inexplicably, the wall seemed to divide in the middle, and Hermione and her parents stepped absentmindedly through the entrance. Hermione looked back at Tom, to see that the archway had closed.

She heard a gasp. 'Darling, look at this!" Mrs Granger exclaimed excitedly. Hermione turned around and gaped. There seemed to be no words to describe the scenes in front of her. Diagon Alley was infinitely better than she could have ever dreamed of it being. Oh, it was glorious! There were shops and shops of extraordinary things.

A lanky, balding man was muttering, "Ridiculous, really the prices, my son needs a bloody wand, for god's sake," There were shops selling cauldrons and pets and brooms!

Had they walked into Narnia instead?

People walked around in pointy hats, and cloaks and held wands. It was like they had walked into an alternate reality.

It was remarkable. It was beautiful.

Mrs Granger was the first to shake herself out of the trance. "I promise you'll be able to look around at everything, dears, but we need to get the money first, that is what Professor McGonagall said,"

Mr Granger and Hermione both followed her absentmindedly, whilst staring at their surroundings. Mrs Granger murmured to herself, "Gringotts, was it? Ah, here it is,"

The Granger family stopped in front of a big, snowy-white building that was situated at the end of Diagon Alley. It was considerably larger than the buildings next to it, and goblins were standing at the door. They had long fingers, toes and knobbly noses.

______________

_"Before you'll be able to get anything, you'll need to exchange some of your Muggle money for Wizarding Galleons,"_

_Mr Granger shook his head and chuckled slightly breathlessly, "Of course there's a different currency,"_

_Professor McGonagall's jaw clenched, probably at the annoyance of being constantly interrupted. "Yes, there are Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. 29 bronze Knuts in a silver sickle, and 17 sickles in a gold Galleon."_

_Hermione's brow furrowed. That would certainly take a little bit of time to get used to. "I would advise you to convert any savings accounts that you have for your daughter into a Vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, which is run by goblins-"_

_"Wha- goblins!" interjected Hermione astoundingly._

_"Ah, yes goblins. They are incredibly proud creatures and powerful as well. Goblins have been running Gringotts for centuries. Do not anger them," Professor McGonagall said sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Goblins are seen as inferior by the Ministry, but under no circumstances are to be underestimated."_

_Mrs Granger looked worriedly at Hermione. "Professor, are there any other strong prejudices held within the community itself?" Mrs Granger's parents were Kenyan immigrants and she had faced slurs and discrimination all her life. She did not want Hermione to face even more discrimination aside form what she already got because of the colour of her skin._

_She closed her eyes and deflated disappointedly, when Professor McGonagall looked the other way, before replying a soft, "Yes," Hermione looked up from her lap and stared at the professor. Hermione assumed that if it didn't affect her personally, Professor McGonagall wouldn't look so uncomfortable. "There are some people, you see, who are what we call pureblood. And th-they, tend to look down slightly on those who come from Muggle backgrounds, but either way, Hermione wouldn't have to interact with them, because they'll all be in Slytherin anyway,"_

_Hermione immediately paid more attention. She was so fascinated by the idea of getting sorted and how each house possessed different qualities. "Why do you say that," Professor McGonagall looked slightly sheepish, "Well, it's just that purebloods tend to aspire to get in Slytherin, and there hasn't been a muggle-born Slytherin in decades."_

_Well then. Slytherin was out, but it didn't matter much to Hermione, because if it was full of blood supremacists, good riddance! she'd say._

_"But anyway, you needn't worry about the security of Gringotts, it's the safest pl-"_

___________

Hermione and her parents came out of Flourish and Blotts, with a lot more than just the standard amount of books needed for a first-year. Hermione had grabbed every book on the magical history and magical theory she could find. She had even managed to get a book on Curses, though she had to sneak away from the sight of her parents.

They had spent roughly an hour in that bookstore, both Mr and Mrs Granger oohing and aahing at all of the books. Although Hermione was incredibly pleased with the books that she had gotten, she was dissatisfied with the amount of literature they had- sorely lacking in comparison to some Muggle works.

But Hermione didn't allow herself to ponder on those thoughts any longer. Because they were going to Ollivanders and she was getting a real-life wand! As they reached nearer the shop, Hermione looked slightly distastefully at it. It was small and shabby, and its sign was made up of peeling gold letters. Shaking her head, and practically shaking with excitement.

That smile turned into a frown though, as she was almost pushed to the floor, by and angry moving girl, who hissed, "Move, you filthy Muggles,"

Hermione turned around ready to bristle an angry retort, but when she looked back the girl was nowhere to be found.

Ah. That prejudice.

An old man, with pale silver eyes, stepped out wearily. "Sorry about that," he murmured, "Why don't you come in," Hermione and her parents awkwardly stepped in. There were several tall, long boxes in Ollivanders, which all looked rather dusty.

_BANG_

Hermione jumped as fireworks seem to start exploding from nowhere. Funnily enough, the air around her felt crackly and explosive. The fireworks were beautiful, in vibrant greens and blues and reds. Hermione circled them and watched as they seemed to rotate around her. Mr Ollivander looked incredibly surprised and Mr and Mrs Granger were looking at the sight astounded.

The fireworks died down and then something shot through the air and landed in Hermione's right hand. It was a wand, elegant and supple. Hermione marvelled at it and felt it, entranced at the smooth wood. Her right hand felt tingly and her whole body felt like it was filled with newfound energy.Hermione suddenly felt capable of doing the scariest things in the world, like jump off a mountain, or hex Aisha Omar.

Mr Oliivander walked towards her and picked up the wand. Immediately, Hermione felt a surge of irrational protectiveness and the urge to grab it out of his hands. Silvery eyes were fixed on the wand. "What a phenomenon," He said as he started boxing the wand, "Never thought I'd see in my lifetime-"

Hermione looked at him confusedly, "Sorry, see what?

Mr Ollivander looked up as if he had just remembered that she was in the room. "You see, my dear girl- sorry what's your name?" "Hermione Granger," "Well, then my dear Miss Granger, your wand is an 11 inch, relatively supple, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core."

Mr Granger coughed nervously from the corner of the room. "That's all ve-very good, but wha-what was that explosion?" "

Apologies, Mr Granger. Miss Granger, dear, vine wands are often attracted to those of ambition and are very sensitive in detecting their match. I've only ever seen such a reaction when a person walks into a room twice before, and none even remotely as powerful."

"But-but what does that mean?" Hermione asked worriedly. She wasn't an odd person even here, was she?

Mr Oliivander looked at her intently and his pale eyes seemed to slightly examine her wearily. "Combined with a dragon heartstring core, arguably one of the most powerful cores, I think we can expect great things from you, Miss Granger,

Mr Ollivander's voice then lighted considerably, and he looked towards them. "Now, would you be interested in a wand holster,"

Hermione mutely nodded, and Mr Ollivander flicked his hand, and a tape-measure came up to promptly measure her arm. So, even the oddest man she'd ever met thought her odd.

But she’d achieve great things. Well, wasn't that merry? Wasn't that good news indeed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you lookie here. I've updated. 
> 
> I know I commented that I would update it a lot quicker, but I got distracted reading other dramione fics. Whoops!
> 
> My little baby got a wand! Aww, they grow so fast, - brushes tear.  
> Also, I hope I highlighted the slight prejudice between Professor McGonagall and Slytherins, because the prejudice is not one-sided.
> 
> As usual, comment and kudos are much appreciated. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it! Just a little introduction to our resident badass, Hermione Granger. 
> 
> Other chapters will be longer though (fingers crossed)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr  
> neitheraborrowernoralenderbe


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